_"For this is wisdom--
Not to love and live
But to question what Fate
Or the Gods may give...."_
Terra--20th Century.
"I for one, have no intention of being sterilized by--shall we
say--remote control!" The sardonic voice paused for emphasis. That
would be _Astran_, Julian thought as he entered the great Hall, vast
enough to encompass an army. The satirical tones were all too familiar;
he had heard them many, many times during the years he had risen from
a mere Astro-operative, through the successive stages of "Facet,"
Section-Facet Arch-Guardian; Techno-Star and finally had become
Control-Facet, representing the flat, top-most facet of the stupendous
jewel that hung above the Dais of the _Dekka_. "Dekkans," the voice
continued, "despite my great age, I can think of less inglorious ends
than to die impotent!" The flaming glory of the immense diamond cut in
the shape of a ten-point double star, veiled the speaker.
"Perhaps we're not facing a conscious enemy at all--that is, none that
we have been able to discover," Astran amended with a dry chuckle
distilled of acid. "And believe me, the resources of the _Dekka_ are
anything but negligible! However, it may be that through a weakening
of our race as a whole because of our existence under a different
environment than Earth, we have succumbed to a microorganism native
to these Moons, which originally were too alien to fit in mankind's
metabolic processes. But now, now that through centuries of adaptation
we have subtly changed. _It_ ... whatever it is, filtrable virus,
microorganism, or whatever, _has had a chance to take hold_. All of
you know the effects of the disease--hypertrophy of pigmentation
glands--silver hair and eyes, as well as its one single deadly
result--_sterility_!" Astran paused on the ghastly thought and let it
sink in.
"Our scientists have been unable to isolate the germ, it must be a
filtrable virus ... that is their problem. But, if as I suspect there
is a ... what was it the barbaric, ancient Romans called it?... a
_Deux ex machina_ behind it, then, by the perdurable glory of our
Moon, gentlemen, I pledge a holocaust that'll dwarf Jupiter's Red Spot
into insignificance!" The capacity for destruction in Astran's cold,
dispassionate voice was awesome.
In the ensuing silence, Julian's mind trained to the apex of its
wide-awakedness, felt the horror-vibration that swept the audience of
Dekkans. He saw the coruscating streamers of living fire that blazed
from the stupendous double star, and, with a feeling of shock saw
that ahead of him an Astro-operative's mask had slid imperceptibly to
one side, enough to expose a tell-tale _silver tide that had reached
half-an-inch above the hair-roots_!
Casually almost, Julian moved with his strange, smooth elegance
over the ethereal blueness of the safiro-plast flooring, and the
imperturbable gaze of his frigid eyes probed into the suddenly startled
glare of the man. Without warning his hand flashed out and came away
with the torn mask. A wealth of hair that had been tinted gold but
showed unmistakable silver at the roots and parting cascaded to his
shoulders.
The narrow face of the Mutant, with its thin, high-bridged nose and
silver eyes, flushed crimson as he was exposed, and the long claw-like
hand darted to his side, groping for the deadly Power-rapier that
was _de rigeur_. All in one sinuous motion he lunged with the weapon
that described a silver vortex under the fulgurant star. In the utter
silence Julian, too, had drawn.
The breath of all present seemed to pause for a startled second, then
their ranks split to give them room. There could be no interference
in a duel, that was the law. There was courage in the Mutant, a
fanatical valor that was mirrored in his eyes. He knew his life to be
forfeit--and he intended to sell it as dearly as he possibly could.
* * * * *
Only the singing impact of the blades was heard, as the darting swords
parried and cut, swirling streamers of unleashed power. And suddenly,
the Mutant seemed to recoil upon himself, as if gathering all his
reserves of strength, then he launched himself forward in a vertiginous
fury of unholy speed. And that was his undoing, for Julian trained
under Jovian gravity could more than match it, and the Mutant staking
all on speed, had had to sacrifice his guard. There was a soundless
flash, like the glare from a gigantic glass, and where the Mutant's
chest had been there was only space, space lit by the spectral-blueness
of the Dekka Star. The body fell a charred and twisted thing from which
the watchers averted their eyes. The peculiar odor of disintegrated
flesh stung their nostrils.
For the first time in living memory, a spy had contrived to enter their
midst. Julian didn't care to think what would happen to the units who
guarded and activated the Neuro-graphs that were posted the length of
the entrance corridor. Still, it was obvious that only a mind of great
power could have had the satanic ingenuity to plan an invasion of the
_Dekka's_ Hall of Sessions.
Julian Varon bent over the mutilated form suppressing an impulse to
retch. It was unmistakably a _true_ Mutant from Ganymede, where the
dark flower of their civilization had reached obscure heights. The
features of the man were unmistakeable. As he straightened, Julian
raised his left arm exposing the tiny double star at his wrist, symbol
of his rank, and belatedly reported to the _Dekka_.
"A Ganymedean Mutant, _Serenity_!" Julian spoke, facing toward the Dais
where he knew Astran stood behind the veiling curtain of light shed
by the diamond star. "This dubious honor is the second one tonight,"
Julian said with a mirthless laugh. "I've fought one bare-handed, the
other with Power-rapiers, I should like the next encounter to be with
'Electro-cannon!' However, perhaps these two encounters are something
of a clue. Surely," he paused and swept the assembled Dekkans with his
eyes, "they must form part of a definite pattern."
"Please continue, Control-Facet," Astran's voice held a note of
suppressed excitement.
"Simply that it has occurred to me, that while we on Io, the dwellers
on Europa and even Callisto have been ravaged by this hellish disease,
Ganymede has failed even to _mention_ the scourge in their reports.
Even taking for granted their genius for silence and intrigue--their
aloofness from their sister-worlds' affairs, such a catastrophe as
this Plague should have blasted them out of their shells, _if they have
been ravaged, too_! If not," Julian paused deliberately, and into these
words he put all the dynamic, irresistible power of his trained voice,
"_we should investigate, regardless of consequences_!"
"Investigate!" Astran's voice held a grim sardonicism. "If what I
_intuit_ is true, we, the Dekka are prepared to underwrite Jovian
history for the next hundred years!"
Julian sighed with a sudden feeling of exultance, and he knew why.
Wryly, he was aware that what Astran termed "intuit" was an integer
of vastly complicated cerebro-geometric figures; graphs of brainpower
coordinates and emotional integers, whose tendrils root-like delved
into the innermost recesses of the human mind. And Astran was perhaps
the greatest Cerebro-Geometrician of them all. Quite obviously the
scientists of the Dekka had been far from idle. And, the expose of the
Mutant spy had been like a piece in a jig-saw puzzle falling into place
and revealing the beginnings of a pattern of some sort, but as yet not
clear.
"Quorum!" Astran's voice rose imperatively. "Astro-operatives and
Facets clear the Hall. All others remain."
The real session was about to begin. Julian Varon knew it all by heart.
The endless series of individual reports on every nook and corner
of their worlds, so that each member of the Dekka present would be
acquainted with the sum total of their individual experiences. Still
they remained masked.
* * * * *
A great multitude of lesser members surged toward the exit, while those
chosen to remain grouped forward under the flaming diamond star, whose
light veiled the ten members of the _Dekka_. For the ten leaders of
their order of whom Astran was the foremost, might be known by their
names, recognized by their voices, but they were never seen. There was
a saying that all others "could enter the light, but could never touch
the flame."
All the waning night, while Io revelled in a fantastic carnival of
pleasure, they gave their reports in minute detail, and the ten minds
on the dais that formed the Dekka, made calculations with infinite
patience and fed them to the Neuro-graphs by their desks complicated
cerebro-geometric figurates were set up, and woven into the matrix
of their problem. The possible influence of certain key figures in
the Societies of other Moons whose intelligence, emotional stability
and intellectual attributes were known, was reduced to high-level
variables, and again fed to the marvelous machines together with the
relevant data culled from the members present. Astran was like a raging
juggernaut, asking questions, prodding laggard memories, directing the
other nine members of the Dekka. He was tireless, and pitiless. How at
his great age he could accomplish it, was a mystery. But it had been
that boundless energy and stupendous will that had been responsible for
the greatness of Io--not to speak of the _Dekka_.
_He must be over two hundred!_ Julian thought with awe, recalling dimly
the "Memoirs" of an earlier historian whom Astran had commissioned to
compile a history of Io, and in so doing had managed to bedevil that
poor man's life to such an extent, that the historian had counted the
cessation of Astran's visits as among the compensations for dying!...
That had been fifty years ago, when already for a century Astran had
led the Dekka.
At last, the Neuro-Graph machines, marvelous as they were could do no
more. Out of that welter of figures, endless reports and calculations,
one master mathematical conclusion remained. _The answer lay in
Ganymede!_
It suddenly occurred to Julian just how ghastly was the irony of
their position. For their ancestors in gaining all the "conditions of
freedom," had gained far more than they'd bargained for, including this
epidemic of Mutations that in rendering them sterile sealed the doom
of their Moons. Had _Terra_ known it, this was the perfect answer--a
few decades and all of them would remain only as a Mars-dry chapter in
history.
They had sown the whirlwind ... and were reaping extinction!
And Julian found a kindred feeling in the vast capacity for sheer
destruction that Astran had hinted at tonight.
If the answer lay in Ganymede with its dual civilization of Terran
mutants and their descendants, and the original Ganymedean race,
he meant to visit that stupefying world of cabals and intrigues and
unrivaled luxury.
* * * * *
Julian stood alone at last beside the spacer where lay Narda's
unconscious form. He glanced up into the ultra-marine skies blazing
with myriad fiery roses, and gazed at the red ruby that was Ganymede
reflecting the great Red Spot of the parent world.
Finally Julian entered the spacer and tenderly raised Narda's head
to pour Sulfalixir down her throat. First he had to take her where
she would be cared for, and then ... and then.... With a sigh he took
the controls and set the drive. In seconds he was soaring, above the
deserted plains.